Awkward
by Pariaritzia
Summary: Because honestly, their entire relationship can be summed up with one word.


**I haven't actually seen the movie, but I've seen so many snippets on YouTube and listened to Frozen Heart about a million times and read a billion fics…so I think I can write something decent. My apologies if anything is inaccurate. Please review if you like it!**

**Bonne lecture.**

Anna _knows_ awkward. She has lived with awkward all her life, sleeps with it, breathes it in, drinks it for breakfast and gulps it down for dinner. She wears it, walks with it, talks with it, even smiles with it.

For the longest time awkward was something that belonged only to her. Her parents would never have been awkward. Elsa would never be awkward. Even the maids and housekeepers and butlers had more grace and poise than she did—for heaven's sake, if she couldn't even walk down the hall without nearly tripping over the edge of her own dress, then how could she possibly balance two trays of food and a duster while opening a door? Impossible!

Hans had never been awkward, either. Dancing with him had been like dancing with the wind: smooth and nimble and akin to floating. At first, Anna had thought that the right person—that Hans—would make her less awkward, that being with an elegant man would instantly make her elegant as well.

Until…well. Until Hans turned out to be far from elegant on the inside.

So back to awkward Anna went, back to clumsiness and gaucheness and ineptitude. Back to feeling like the only person with such qualities.

Until…well. Until Kristoff turned out to be equally awkward.

Normally he wasn't so maladroit. When up on the mountain, cracking ice born of cold and winter air, he was as capable as the next harvester. When in the city, confined in a palace born of coins and whiny aristocrats, he was about as capable as a fish in the desert.

A fish in the desert suited him just fine, though, because there was another fish, one who matched him for every faux pas.

.^.

For every time he used the wrong fork at dinner, Anna used the wrong spoon.

("You've lived here for nearly two decades," he'd said to her once. "How do you still not know what to use?"

"You've lived up on the mountain for two decades," she'd snapped. "Do _you_ know everything about it? Hm? Do you know where all the good ice is, and the names of all the plants?"

"…Yes."

"Oh—well—oh, just shush. Pick me up, will you?")

.^.

For every time he broke another vase (how many stupid vases could a single residence have, anyway?), Anna tripped over her own feet.

("Why don't you wear shorter dresses?" he'd suggested, with entirely pure intentions.

"Oh, sure," she'd said sarcastically, "and then have myself freeze to death when winter comes around again? That's already happened, remember?"

His expression made her retract her statement immediately, and his memory of what followed was fuzzy, if exceedingly pleasant. For some reason all he remembered clearly was her saying, "Pick me up, will you?")

.^.

For every time he went to kiss her mouth and missed (his lips had a thorough knowledge of her cheek within a week), Anna would hop up and down, a dark scowl on her face as she tried to figure out how on earth she was supposed to kiss a man who was "the size of a baby mountain!"

("A baby mountain? Seriously, Anna? What does that even _mean_?"

"It means…a mountain that…isn't grown up yet!"

"_What_?"

"Oh, I don't know! Shut up and pick me up, will you?")

.^.

For every time he accidentally ripped a button off the absurdly delicate waistcoat he was forced to wear at balls, Anna tore the lace off the hem of her dress. As in…all the lace. All the way around.

("Why are you staring at me?" she'd demanded.

He'd started and reddened. "I—nothing."

"No, tell me!"

He couldn't bring himself to tell her that she had pretty ankles. No, it would be too strange, even for them. "No, it's nothing."

"Kristoff!"

"No! Never mind!"

"You are _exasperating_—pick me up, will you?")

.^.

For every time he said "um" while trying to propose to her, Anna laughed and cried and clapped her hands together and said "yes, yes, of course you idiot, what else would I say?" and then cried some more.

("Why were you so nervous?" she'd asked him, much later.

"I didn't know what you'd say," he'd admitted, blushing.

She had given him an incredulous look. "You've lived here for a _year_, Kristoff. You've ravished me numerous times! Of _course_ I would say yes."

"I thought maybe the Hans thing might get in the way," he'd mumbled, secretly pleased by her idea that their marriage was inevitable. "And I haven't _ravished_ you numerous times. I've just kissed you."

"A lot."

"Yes."

"With no one around."

"Um…yes."

"And not all our clothes on."

"_Anna_."

"And—"

He had been forced to cut her off in a way that proved her right.

"Oh-oh, wait, Kristoff, don't stop! Pick me up, will you?")

.^.

For every time he cried at their wedding, Anna beamed so widely the guests thought her face might crack in half.

("My face hurts," she'd said, once the last guest had finally departed.

"That's because you've stretched it out so much I could iron my shirt on it."

"Ha, ha. This is coming from the man who still has tear tracks on his cheeks."

"I do _not_."

"Yes, you do. Here, I'll wipe them for you."

He'd bent to let her reach his face. "Where again?"

"Here…shhh…see, like this, you don't have to pick me up!"

"Yeah, but now I'm all stiff."

"Oh, hush. Then just pick me up, will you?"

.^.

For every time Kristoff held their little baby girl and cuddled her close, crooning to her like he was a child himself and not a father the size of a baby mountain, Anna would come up behind him, fling her arms around him, and hug the two people she loved most in the world.

("What about Elsa?" he'd asked once.

"We can bring her in the hug, too, if you want. I think she's in the library."

"No, I mean—don't you love Elsa the most?"

"I love all of you the most!"

"So really, you're hugging two people out of the three you love most in the world."

"Oh my _goodness_, Kristoff, will you just—here, put her down and pick _me_ up, will you?")

.^.

Awkward was all right, Anna decided finally. Awkward was perfectly all right, because it was real, more real than eloquent proposals and dancing with wind and always choosing fruit over chocolate. Awkward was too many freckles and chocolate for breakfast and laughing on a wedding night, and awkward was too much love crammed into one person.

One very short person.

("Pick me up, will you?")


End file.
